Layers of Ouabain
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: Safety, or the illusion of so, is a fickle thing. Fear, or the registration of so, is a fickle thing. Calamity, or the assumption of so, is a fickle thing. But maybe that's all null and void, because it really depends on who you're asking. Crappy nothingness, crappy punctuation. Crap, crap, crap.


**Author's Note: Disjointed, crappy, plotless, disjointed, pointless, cryptic, disjointed, piece of shit vent/one-shot thing ._.**

* * *

"Are you okay, Nathaniel? You look really pale."

Pale, pale, pale. He gets it, yeah. Someone noticed that before Melody. Lynn, he thinks. Yeah, Lynn said something. But that doesn't have to do with anything right now, and if all these people have to worry about is his fucking complexion, well then bully for them! He wishes his problems were that simple. He wishes all he had to worry about was his complexion.

But he has a hell of a lot more to worry about than that. Because school is his safe place, but it's about to be an open house which means it isn't safe for him anymore at all. They will be here. They will be invading the one place where they aren't already and he does. Not. Want. Them. Here! Especially not _him. _Not her either, no, but especially not_ him. _

"Nathaniel, could you make copies of this? Thank you."

And then the principal pushes some paper into his grasp and of course, he should be able to make copies. That's what he does, right? He's good at things like that, but right now his blood is so cold his hands are completely numb, and the sheet slips right out and flutters to the ground. It just so happens that Melody drops something as well in the next millisecond.

A coincidence, except its not because she does little things like that all the time just to initiate some kind of candid contact with him, and Nathaniel hates it! Especially right now. Right now he wants to grab her and strangle her until her she chokes on her screams because that's just how maddening these petty little instances are, and he just can't deal with them right now!

He bends down and snatches up the paper without even looking at it, wheeling around and practically sprinting from the classroom.

All he can think about are his parents. About this open house. How they'll be here, in the one safe haven where they aren't and he's his own person. The sanctuary itself was precarious given that the original reason he strove so hard here is to please them (especially _him_), but it was still safe! It was safe because he made their expectations his own goals, his own identity really, and he was just as alone as he wanted to be and that was great.

All of which, could very well be ruined after this open house. They're going to come and there isn't anything he can do about it.

It stings like nettles to be so helpless.

All the copies are there and he surveys them with distracted eyes, throwing them into a stack much too sloppy to be satisfactory as he briskly glides back to the classroom.

Ever since that announcement, every single thought has been of them. Even now, he doesn't exactly register that he's passing the first paper to Iris or that there's a weary Mr. Faraize lecturing behind him. He's functioning on autopilot like the well-behaved machine he's taught himself to be when the foundation starts cracking (it's been cracked for some time now really, he refuses to acknowledge this).

"Um, Nathaniel?"

"Yes?" He spares a glance to Iris, lips failing to form their generic smile and tone too nervous for the assistance he wants it to promise.

"This is Melody's math homework," she informs him sheepishly and holds up the paper he just passed her.

Arctic ice arrests Nathaniel's chest. What? Nervous eyes dart to the stack in his hand and he searches for the answer in the ink. It is indeed Melody's math homework. He must've picked up the wrong paper when she pulled her harmless shenanigan. A silly, honest mistake. He hasn't made one of those before. He wouldn't have made it if he wasn't so sidetracked with them.

They're already fucking him up and they aren't even here yet.

He drops the entire stack of wasted copies, throat tightening, fingers trembling, a vaguely familiar ache surfacing between his temples. A panic attack. It isn't the first one he's had, but they aren't frequent either. This is the first one in a very long time and knowing that is enough to make it worse. His chest constricts and his rapid breaths leave his mouth in loud, erratic gasps.

People stare. Nathaniel can feel their gazes on his skin like a prickling slime he can't wipe away, and after the staring comes the murmurs. He's sure Iris says his name, but then one comment from some unknown at a desk stands out among the deafening white noise.

"Maybe someone should call his parents." No. NO. NO!

He bolts like a cornered animal. Getting away is the main objective, and thinking clearly falls to the wayside in the process, and he ends up in the last place he should've. The gardening club. The nest of eternal pollen, smack dab in blooming season.

Breathing was already getting harder and now he's riddled with sneezing fits that clog his sinuses and make his eyes water until everything is blurring over in blobs in shades of green. In the back of his mind he knows it should be as simple as leaving, but it doesn't_ feel_ that simple at all. Second is jumping to second too fast to keep up with, and he needed to get out there! Now his senses are overflowing, and his limbs are shaking and he feels so faint that he isn't sure he could get out of this pollen hell if he tried, which is just another reason to panic...

"Nathaniel?" He hears the question in between congested sneezes, when there is a thin, gooey rope of snot dangling from his nostrils and it's just absolutely disgusting, and this is the worst possible moment for someone else to see him, and he wanted to get away from everyone to begin with anyway! Panting harder than ever, he notices the voice is from the silver and black blob that stands out against the green. Lysander.

"Nathaniel?" The first question was curious, surprised. Now it's patient and the next thing Nathaniel knows, there's the slightest touch of a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, but I highly suggest you leave, as you can't breathe properly. Would you like me to walk with you to the courtyard?"

Watery eyes blinking as rapid as his squally breaths leave him, Nathaniel's initial reaction is shake his head and save himself the further humiliation. But then it occurs that Lysander sounds sane. Sane. Actually sane. Sanity is something that's temporarily suspended from him, and it's something those leering idiots in class don't possess at all. So he nods instead, blinking away the moisture and giving in to another sneeze.

"Okay, good," Lysander murmurs. Then the slight touch on his shoulder gets just a little bit firmer, just enough to be a guiding touch. Nathaniel finds he's grateful for that and soaks it in, as they shuffle to the courtyard together. The sneezing finally stops when Lysander escorts him to a bench and his vision subsequently clears. His nostrils are still obstructed, but it's just as well. He's still breathing through his mouth, each intake and outtake of air more like a wheezy hiccup.

Lysander sits next to him and carefully lays a tentative hand on his back. "Do you want me to go—"

"No, don't go!" Nathaniel latches onto his arm so tight he believes his fingernails are breaking skin.

Lysander refrains from wincing and nods. "Okay, I won't go. I wasn't going to leave to begin with. Not permanently. I was going to ask if you wanted me to go get your allergy medicine? Or perhaps a paper bag?"

"No, just stay!" And then his grip tightens to a vise and he knows his fingernails are breaking skin. On some level he's aware of how ridiculous he sounds, but right now his blood is on fire and the air just isn't filling his lungs, and the open house is still a looming threat and sounding ridiculous suddenly doesn't matter at all.

"Alright," Lysander assures calmly, bicolored gaze gentle and clement. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

Nathaniel is keenly aware of the fat sweat droplets rolling down his face and he briskly wipes them away with a sleeve, the throbbing knot in his chest somewhat loosening.

"Counting your breaths might help get your breathing normal again. Do you want to try?"

"You might understand this better than I do," Nathaniel rasps weakly. It isn't true, of course. Or, well, maybe it is. Lysander most certainly doesn't understand _that_ better than he does, but _this_ is different from _that_ and Nathaniel supposes there is a good chance Lysander know a lot about _this_.

A ginger, delicate pat on the back. "I'll count with you."

And so they do, words that aren't numbers all lost in favor of focusing on the task at hand, aside from Lysander's occasional encouragement. Somewhere in the corner of his thoughts, Nathaniel dimly realizes this is the longest conversation they've ever had. If he weren't so rattled, he would've felt like laughing. It passes in good time. Not just the hyperventilating, but everything really. The threat still taunts from the depths of his knowledge, but the reaction fades. His nails retract from Lysander's flesh and his rigid posture slackens.

"Thanks," he mumbles quietly.

"You're welcome." Lysander graces him with a genuine smile.

"You can go back to...Whatever it was you were doing."

"I don't have to. It wasn't important."

"I'm fine," Nathaniel insists and for the moment it's true. Aside from the help, he's really glad Lysander didn't ask the questions anyone else would've. He doesn't think he could've answered them.

"If you're sure." He dips his head and stands with a trace of hesitation. Nathaniel considers asking how he became so unbelievably patient. His mouth opens, and then at the last second he decides he'll save the question for another day.


End file.
